


like clouds in the sky, we drift

by theagonyofblank



Category: K-pop, So Nyuh Shi Dae | Girls' Generation
Genre: Alternate Universe - Space, Alternate Universe - Space Opera, F/F, I am laughing that "space opera" is actually a tag
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-24
Updated: 2013-12-24
Packaged: 2018-01-05 22:36:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,383
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1099382
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theagonyofblank/pseuds/theagonyofblank
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ladies in space. Comparing this to Battlestar Galactica would be an insult.</p>
            </blockquote>





	like clouds in the sky, we drift

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is a culmination of [frankiewenttohollywood](http://archiveofourown.org/users/frankiewenttohollywood)'s harassment (she was the one who got me into SNSD this past October in the first place), and [sparksfly7](http://archiveofourown.org/users/sparksfly7)'s encouragement. But really, thank you guys for pushing and enquiring and basically being a huge motivating factor in my finishing this!
> 
> I really am laughing about the fact that "space opera" is a tag, because Frankie and I have been referring to this as such since the very first days of this fic.
> 
> Finally, happy holidays to everyone!

When Tiffany blinks her eyes open, the cabin is dark and the air is stale. Her sheets feel rough underneath her, and she tugs at her shirt uncomfortably as she turns over to glance at the clock in the wall above her bed, which flashes the numbers 04:11 at her in an angry red. She murmurs quietly to herself in displeasure, burying her face in her pillow and closing her eyes. She still has three hours left till her twelve-hour shift begins, and she’s not going to waste a single minute lying awake in bed.

 

 

*

Her alarm wakes her at 06:00 on the dot, and the noise is enough for her to feel a headache coming on, pressing in right behind her eyes. Without looking, she slaps a hand on the wall next to her clock, her fingers and thumb spread out, and after five seconds, the incessant ringing dies down.

 _Five minutes,_ she tells herself, and drifts off again.

And at 06:05, the same thing happens. This time, she taps a quick double-tap onto the wall, and the alarm dies down immediately. Slowly – sluggishly – she climbs down from her top bunk, shivering as the cold air hits her bare legs, and stretches when her feet hit the floor. She leans down, peering into the bunk below hers to wake her roommate up, only to find it conspicuously empty – something that explains the lack of complaints about her “damned alarm waking the whole ship up.”

With a yawn, she reaches into her locker for her toothbrush and shower gels, and clumsily slips into her standard-issue maroon sweatpants.

Another double-tap on the door and it slides open with an artificial hiss, and Tiffany has to shield her eyes from the harsh fluorescent lights as she shuffles her way to the bathroom. She hasn’t taken twenty steps down the hallway when a noise catches her ear, though when she looks up, she sees nothing. It’s only when she approaches one of the smaller corridors that she finds, pressed into a corner, a mass of tangled limbs and mussed hair – blonde with black, and it’s difficult to see who’s who, but she recognizes the dark-haired woman, and it’s pretty obvious what’s going on here.

She clears her throat, and the two women break apart.

“Taeyeon,” Tiffany sighs, half-tired but not at all surprised.

Taeyeon straightens, reddening under Tiffany’s sleepy gaze, and it’s almost enough to make up for the earlier clenching at the pit of her belly. “Fany.”

“Doesn’t your shift start in an hour?”

It’s a rhetorical question, and judging by the look on Taeyeon’s face, the other woman knows it. The words have their desired effect, though, and Taeyeon steps away from the blonde, straightening her uniform. “Yeah,” Taeyeon replies after a moment’s consideration, looking apologetically from the blonde to Tiffany. “Um.”

Tiffany tries not to roll her eyes; Taeyeon may be her superior, but she has never once acted like it – they’ve been friends since their teenage years, and Tiffany’s always taken care of Taeyeon.

Tiffany’s always taken care of everyone.

“Well,” says the blonde, her voice completely neutral. Tiffany pretends not to notice the deliberate way in which she’s buttoning her shirt, focusing her gaze on the wall behind the woman instead. “I’ll see you around, Major Kim. And… ‘Fany,’ was it?”

“Captain Hwang,” Tiffany corrects tightly.

“Captain Hwang,” repeats the blonde, and Tiffany doesn’t like the way the other woman’s voice curls around her name. “Happy flying.”

Taeyeon smiles easily. “Yeah, thanks.”

They both watch her saunter back down the hall, and Tiffany takes comfort in the knowledge that Taeyeon’s already forgotten her name.

 

 

*

The mess hall is louder than usual today, and Tiffany presses a hand to her temple as she half-heartedly spoons the scrambled eggs and bacon down her throat.

“You know,” Tiffany starts, “you’d think they’d at least feed us decent food, considering we hardly ever get time off to go down to Earth.”

Sunny, who’s seated across from her and looks at least ten times more alive than Tiffany feels, only shrugs. “Yeah, well. I knew what I was getting into. And the Generation’s not exactly known for its stellar food. Next time, you should opt to be placed on the ERS Muse. _They_ have a quality cafeteria. I hear they even have fresh strawberries.”

Tiffany misses strawberries, but she doesn’t get to mull this over for very long, because there’s a tap on her shoulder, and when she looks up, it’s to Taeyeon, standing over her with a concerned look on her face. “You okay?” Taeyeon asks quietly, leaning down.

“Y-yeah,” Tiffany manages, throat dry. She shakes her head. “What’s up? Do you have my assignment?”

“You’re on the Venus Circuit today,” Taeyeon tells her.

Tiffany groans. “What, _again_?”

“Yes, Captain Hwang,” Taeyeon frowns at her, disapproval in her eyes. But then her gaze softens, and she adds, “And by the looks of it, you need an easy day. So you’re welcome.” She straightens and turns to regard Sunny, and that’s when Tiffany remembers they’re not alone. “Captain Lee?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Sunny replies, completely professional, and Tiffany tunes out the rest.

It’s not easy having your best friend as your commanding officer, Tiffany thinks sullenly to herself as she stabs at an overly crisp piece of bacon, breaking it into at least five smaller pieces. Tiffany knows she’s lucky, in a way, that she can get away with small things that others wouldn’t be able to: things like not addressing Taeyeon by her title, and generally being more casual than she should around her. But…

Taeyeon clears her throat, and Tiffany directs her gaze back up at her. “Finish up here,” is what Taeyeon is saying, “and report to the flight deck at 0700 hours.”

“Yes, Major,” comes the simultaneous reply from both Sunny and Tiffany.

Taeyeon shoots Tiffany a dirty look.

It only makes Tiffany feel marginally better, and her eyes follow Taeyeon’s retreating form out of the room.

 

 

*

The Venus Circuit is boring and very routine.

It’s a straight flight from the ERS Generation to the GA Junior, and it’s a route even the most inexperienced cadet could fly. In fact, it was the very first route Tiffany flew at the end of her first year pilot exam. Now, she’s so familiar with the trajectory that she could fly it with her eyes closed.

She doesn’t, because she’s pretty certain she’d end up suspended for a month. Suspended _and_ on latrine duty, and she’d rather not spend her days cleaning up other people’s shit as punishment.

One of the research teams she’s shuttling today consists of three people: two of them are big and burly, and their laughter is even louder than their discussion on proteins and enzymes and incorporating an unpronounceable compound into the shatterproof windshield “for better stability.” The third of their group is the complete opposite. She’s quiet and small in comparison, and maybe also a little bit anal – she washes an apple right in front of Tiffany using her bottled water, even though all of their food has been prewashed and repackaged at least a million times before reaching their hands – but she’s the only one who comes up to the front to make conversation with Tiffany.

Tiffany isn’t in the mood to entertain anyone today, but the way the taller woman offers her hand and says, “I’m Seohyun,” with such earnestness makes Tiffany reconsider, and she grudgingly takes her hand.

It turns out that Tiffany’s initial assessment of Seohyun was dead wrong, because with every passing moment, Tiffany realizes that Seohyun has a lot of thoughts and opinions stuffed into that skinny body of hers – no live animals on ships because they’re disease carriers, no powdered eggs in the morning because it’s not fresh, everyone should take an interest in the recycled air policies – and by the end of their three-hour flight, Tiffany wonders how it’s possible that her headache has actually ebbedto a barely-noticeable throb at the base of her skull.

Seohyun uses a lot of words, but apparently Tiffany’s brain doesn’t seem to mind.

She makes three more trips that day, back and forth and back again for a total of twelve hours of flight time. All in a day’s work, really, and when she clocks off at 19:30, she’s exhausted and can only think of her bunk, cold and impersonal and her favorite place on the ship.

 

 

*

Tiffany is cold and sweaty and sore all over when she wakes up the next morning at 06:00, and the cool air prickles her skin when she carelessly reaches out from under her sheet to shut off the noise assaulting her eardrums.

It takes her a little longer than usual, and everything hurts, but she manages to pull herself out of bed.

She hisses as her feet hit the freezing ground, and Sunny – who is naturally already awake, one arm in her locker and her toothbrush already halfway to her mouth – glances up at her. “You look awful.”

Tiffany tries to glare, but a wave of something unpleasant washes through her, and she has to grip the bedframe for support. “Thanks.”

Sunny looks at her curiously, toothbrush dangling from between her teeth, before marching over and pressing a cool hand to the heated skin on her forehead. Tiffany hears a sharp intake of breath, and then Sunny is frowning severely at her. “You’re sick,” she informs her flatly. “You need to go to the Med Bay.”

And before Tiffany can protest, Sunny is draping a blue zip-up sweatshirt over her pink pajama top and tugging on her maroon sweatpants for her, and Tiffany has neither the time nor the proper mental faculties to process the fashion disaster that’s happening right now before Sunny pushes her out.

As she blinks in the harsh light of the hallway, another wave of dizziness hits her, and there’s no doubt in her mind that she would be lying on the floor if not for Sunny, who’s wrapped an arm around her waist and—okay, fine.

Maybe Med Bay isn’t the worst idea Sunny’s ever had.

 

 

*

She takes it back.

Med Bay is _the_ worst idea Sunny could have come up with.

Tiffany has no idea why babies are even on the ship – she’s pretty sure that’s breaking at least ten different protocols at once, and Seohyun’s voice is whispering codes of conduct and health violations in the back of her mind – but there must be at least three different ones kicking up a fuss. She’s also pretty damned certain she can hear someone weeping in the background. Multiple somepeople, most likely.

Has Sunny sent her here to die?

The cacophony of sounds is too much for her brain and the lights are far too bright for her eyes, and she imagines the throbbing in her head intensifying. She wants nothing more than to curl up in her dark, quiet bunk, but finds herself being maneuvered onto a bed that smells like medicine and sterile equipment.

Sunny leaves with a squeeze to her shoulder and a promise to check back in later when she’s done with her patrol, and then it’s just Tiffany and her doctor-nurse-person-whatever. Her _blonde_ doctor-nurse-person-whatever, she notes and frowns slightly, having developed a distinct and completely rational distaste for blondes in the past twenty-four hours.

“Ah, Captain Hwang,” says the blonde, turning to face Tiffany, and Tiffany feels her heart sink. “Nice to see you again.”

Tiffany squints at her. “What are you doing here?”

“I’m Dr. Jung,” comes the reply, professional and rehearsed, and Tiffany hates it instantly, “and I’ll be your doctor for today.”

“You’re a doctor?”

Amusement crosses her features, but as quickly as it’s there, it’s gone, replaced by something that Tiffany can only describe as carefully neutral. “That’s what I said.”

Tiffany considers this. “Can I get another doctor?”

Dr. Jung actually laughs at this, and looks at Tiffany over her chart. “I’m one of the best you’ll get, Captain. Now lie back and I’ll see what I can do for you.”

Tiffany’s protests die at the tip of her tongue when the blonde sends a challenging glare her way, and Tiffany sighs. It’s easier, she realizes, to grudgingly acquiesce when she’s sick and tired and not at peak condition. “Try not to kill me,” she mutters, folding her arms across her chest and leaning back.

The blonde’s smirk right as Tiffany closes her eyes isn’t exactly heartening, but it doesn’t immediately make her want to hurl, either.

 

 

*

(She does throw up, though. A few times, too, for good measure.)

 

 

*

It turns out that Tiffany has a case of the stomach flu, and apparently it’s something that’s going around the ship.

She blames it on the children.

“Are they even supposed to _be_ here?” Tiffany questions as she looks at the crying babies dubiously. She’s been hooked up to fluids for the past few hours, and it helps, but she can still feel the headache pressing in at her temples. At least the room has stopped spinning.

The woman on the neighboring bed – a blonde with hair lighter than Dr. Jung’s and who introduced herself as Hyoyeon after a few minutes of easy conversation – snorts at the remark. “It’s a part of the new initiative. Haven’t you heard?”

Tiffany’s suddenly reminded of Seohyun, and shakes her head.

“Officers have been leaving the service recently due to ‘family reasons,’ and the Republic’s _finally_ wising up to the reason why.”

“Because they can’t take their kids up here,” Tiffany fills in, even though it feels extraneous. Hyoyeon looks at her like she’s stupid, but it only makes Tiffany roll her eyes. “Come on; cut me some slack. I don’t have time to keep up with revised regulations.”

“You and me both, and yet I find a way to do it.”

“Something tells me you like this new regulation.”

“It allows parents who work on board to have their families with them. What’s not to like?” Hyoyeon regards Tiffany critically. “You’re telling me you don’t agree?”

“This place isn’t exactly a playground,” Tiffany points out with a frown. It’s not that she doesn’t like children so much as it is that she has no idea what to do with them. And that’s not even the point here. “Kids are supposed to have space to run around, not be trapped in a metal box in the sky.”

“No one’s supposed to be trapped in a metal box in the sky,” Hyoyeon counters.

And Tiffany really can’t find fault with that line of thinking, because it’s true. “Yet here we are.”

“Here we are.”

 

 

*

Hyoyeon is discharged shortly afterward.

Tiffany is disappointed by this turn of events, partially because it doesn’t look like she’s going to get cleared for check-out anytime soon, and partially because she’s just lost a great conversationalist. Suddenly, the patients getting wheeled in and out of Med Bay have become a lot less interesting, and the crying babies and weeping people a lot more irritating.

Much to Tiffany’s dismay, the only thing that’s even remotely interesting turns out to be none other than Dr. Jung. She’s a professional in every sense of the word, talking to patients calmly and never losing her cool, even when the patient starts crying hysterically. She manages to keep this cool, detached look plastered on her face, and if Tiffany weren’t so irritated, she may have found it in herself to be impressed. Or disturbed.

Most likely disturbed.

Dr. Jung checks on Tiffany multiple times throughout the day, and each time she spends no longer than three minutes within five feet of Tiffany – monitoring her temperature, switching out the empty fluid bags for filled ones.

She doesn’t bother to make conversation, and Tiffany’s convinced she’s met the doctor with the worst bedside manners in the world. It makes her wish Hyoyeon were still here to buffer the awkwardness between them.

The next time Dr. Jung – Dr. _Jessica_ Jung, according to the name that’s stitched into her doctor’s coat – swings by to check on Tiffany again is at 17:00, and by then, Tiffany feels comfortable enough to refer to her as “Jessica” – not out loud, because she’s not friends with someone who refuses to speak with her, but internally. It’s a lot easier to think of her as “Jessica” than as _that blonde bitch_ or _that insufferable doctor,_ and anyway, Jessica sort of suits her.

“Captain Hwang,” Jessica starts with practiced ease, glancing at her chart before moving forward to examine Tiffany. There are gentle, cool hands at her neck, and Tiffany tries not to squirm at the touch, looking at the lights in the ceiling. “How are you feeling?”

“Better,” Tiffany admits.

“Well,” Jessica hums thoughtfully to herself, checking Tiffany’s chart once more before meeting Tiffany’s eyes. “That gown is certainly an improvement over that monstrosity you decided to come into Med Bay with.”

Tiffany scowls. It figures that the first words out of Jessica’s mouth that aren’t medically-related would be an insult. Tiffany’s only clad in a hospital gown now, the sheets tucked to her waist, and the sweatpants, sweatshirt, and pajama tee she had previously been wearing are neatly piled on the bedstand next to her bed. “I wasn’t aware you were the fashion police.”

Jessica shrugs.

And honestly, how is Tiffany supposed to have a comeback for someone who won’t even take the bait?

“Your stats are a little lower than I’d like,” Jessica says instead, and Tiffany knows she’s deliberately changing the subject – or maybe she’s just doing her job – it’s difficult to read Jessica’s expression, and not for a lack of trying on Tiffany’s part. “So I’m going to keep you for observation overnight.”

Tiffany doesn’t bother to suppress her groan of displeasure. “Isn’t there someone out there who’s dying and needs this bed? You can send me back to my bunk.”

Jessica lifts a brow and hooks a new bag of fluids to Tiffany’s IV. “All the same, you’re staying the night, Captain.”

Sighing, Tiffany slumps back into the bed.

 

 

*

True to her word, Sunny pops in for a quick visit after her shift.

She comes in smelling like gasoline and engine grease, and as Tiffany gingerly bites into the mashed potatoes her roommate was thoughtful enough to bring her, she remembers her recruit days: when she was first posted with the maintenance and engineering crew and spent most of her days repairing engines—well, it was probably more accurate to say that she spent most of her days botching engines, and Sunny spent most of her time fixing up whatever Tiffany had broken.

Sunny has always had a knack for engines.

“How was your day?” Sunny asks.

Washing down the potatoes with a sip of water, Tiffany shrugs. “It was all right. Boring, mostly. And my doctor—”

“—Dr. Jung, right?”

“Yeah,” Tiffany says slowly, dragging the word out. “You know her?”

“Well, I left you with her this morning,” Sunny reminds Tiffany, shooting her a strange look. “And I was working on the new combustion engine with Yoona today, and she says that Dr. Jung is one of the youngest doctors on the Generation – she’s our age, did you know that? Apparently she’s some kind of genius and graduated early or something.”

“I don’t like her,” Tiffany states simply.

Sunny laughs. “Because she’s a genius?”

“No,” Tiffany makes a face. “She’s just…”

Sunny looks at her expectantly.

“…I don’t know.”

“That was so helpful, Fany-ah. I know _exactly_ what you’re talking about.”

Tiffany jokingly slaps Sunny on the shoulder, taking a moment to collect her thoughts. “Doctors are supposed to be nice, right? Make you feel more at ease being in the Med Bay?”

“Sure,” Sunny agrees easily. “I guess.”

“She just puts me on edge. It’s not that I _want_ to talk to her, but she doesn’t say anything at all.”

“Well, you seem to be pretty well taken care of.”

There’s a pause as Tiffany lets the words sink in.

“And,” Sunny continues, taking Tiffany’s silence as a sign to keep talking, “you look a lot better than you did this morning. So even if your feelings were hurt—”

“—that’s not what I said—”

“—it seems like she did her job as a doctor,” Sunny finishes with a grin.

Tiffany pouts. “I still don’t like her.”

Sunny rolls her eyes and sighs. “Shut up and eat your potatoes.”

 

 

*

She’s pulled out of her restless sleep by hushed whispers coming from behind the curtain that separates her bed from the rest of the Med Bay, and one of the voices sounds more familiar than the other.

“Taengoo?” Tiffany croaks out, her voice rough with sleep and sickness.

“Hey,” is the response she gets, followed by the sound of the curtain being pushed aside, and that’s confirmation enough that it’s Taeyeon. “Yeah, it’s me,” continues Taeyeon anyway. “Are you doing okay, Fany?”

Tiffany forces her eyes open, then, and sees Taeyeon staring down at her, a concerned frown on her features. “Yes, I’m okay.” She tries for a reassuring smile, but she’s really just tired.

“I came as soon as I could.”

“I know.”

“I’m sorry I—”

“—Taeyeon, it’s okay,” Tiffany insists, leaning back into her bed again. “I’m an officer too, remember? I know how it is.”

Taeyeon looks like she’s about to reply when the curtains are drawn back, and Jessica peers in – it’s just for a moment, and Tiffany thinks she sees her eyes flick toward her fluid bag – and then she’s directing her attention to Taeyeon, tapping on her wrist. “Five more minutes, Major Kim.”

Once Jessica leaves, Tiffany raises an eyebrow. “Five more minutes, huh? What’s happening in five minutes?”

“Visiting hours are over,” Taeyeon replies with a sigh, sinking down into the visitor’s chair. “It’s pretty late, you know. I had to bribe her to let me in.”

“With what? Sex?”

“ _Tiffany._ ” Even in the darkness, Tiffany can tell that Taeyeon’s blushing, and she wonders how someone who sleeps around as much as Taeyeon does can be so embarrassed to talk about it.

“It’s a valid question.”

Taeyeon rolls her eyes. “Not sex. I bartered some of that bacon Captain Lee procured for me, so you’d better feel special.”

“I do,” Tiffany says, her voice barely a whisper.

“Fany—”

This time, it’s Tiffany who feels her cheeks heat up, who doesn’t want to talk about what she knows Taeyeon is going to bring up, and she’s glad when Jessica pushes the curtains open yet again and enters the small space, immediately busying herself with exchanging the old fluid bag for the new one as though she hadn’t just interrupted a moment.

For once, Tiffany is grateful for her unfortunate (fortunate) timing.

Taeyeon leaves with a gentle squeeze to her shoulder, and Tiffany resolutely ignores the way Jessica glances at her out of the corner of her eye.

 

 

*

The following day proves to be just as boring.

Tiffany is given a jello cup for breakfast – green apple, the label proclaims – and it’s tart, but it hits the spot, and she thinks it must be sad that the highlight of her day is officially wobbly green jelly. It’s not like she has a lot of options, anyway. When the nurse comes to check on her, she brings her another jello cup that Tiffany wolfs down in record time.

The rest of her day is spent drifting in and out of a restless sleep.

Because she’s Tiffany Hwang, she tries – once or twice – to get out of bed, but the nurses rush over and force her back in, threatening her with sedatives and sleep meds. In the end, she decides to take this as a sign to catch up on lost sleep from the earlier week.

Jessica shows up towards the end of the day, and she must have just started her shift, because Tiffany hasn’t seen her all day. She glances at Tiffany’s file for all of two minutes before setting it down at the foot of the bed. “Looks like it’s your lucky day, Captain Hwang,” she says, pursing her lips. “Your stats are almost back to normal.”

“Oh,” Tiffany replies, not sure what this means. “Okay.”

“You get to go home,” Jessica clarifies, giving her a wry look. “Well, to your bunk.”

Tiffany sighs, relieved. “Great.”

“Drink plenty of water. And go easy on the food. Stick to things like jello and mashed potatoes – anything bland.”

“No chili, got it.”

“I doubt you can find chili on the Generation,” Jessica mutters.

“Which was my point,” Tiffany challenges, even though it doesn’t make any sense in the context of the conversation.

Jessica, as usual, doesn’t rise to the challenge and simply raises a brow. “You’re free to go, Captain Hwang.”

And just like that, she’s discharged.

 

 

*

The first thing Sunny does when she sees Tiffany back in their room, legs dangling off the edge of her top bunk, is to hug her.

Well, hug her _legs_ , and it would be awkward – it _is_ sort of awkward – but it’s Sunny, and somehow she makes it work.

“Are you done down there?”

Sunny laughs. “Is this what you say to all the girls at night?”

“Sunny Lee!” Tiffany is scandalized, and she swats at her friend.

“No wonder you haven’t gotten lucky lately,” Sunny continues breezily, waggling her eyebrows suggestively.

“What I say or don’t say to girls is my own business,” Tiffany huffs, though the corners of her eyes are crinkling into a smile.

“Want to go to the bar and celebrate your return?”

The thought is tempting, but Tiffany knows she’s nowhere near one hundred percent, and if she goes out drinking now, she’ll probably just fall sick again. “Maybe some other time.”

“I’m going to hold you to that, Tiffany Hwang.”

 

 

*

Some other time turns out to be a week later.

It’s the first day Tiffany feels like she’s back to normal, and maybe her recovery took a little longer than expected, but she’s also been working twelve-hour shifts almost every day since she was discharged, and well. There’s only so much her body can handle.

Her new schedule, however, shows that she’s on the Asteroid Belt this time around, which means shorter, more interesting runs – but also more time spent on the ship doing paperwork and training new recruits. The latter she doesn’t mind so much; while some of the recruits are dumb as rocks, they never fail to entertain. But paperwork she abhors, and she has a feeling that Taeyeon has saved a large stack just for her.

“You should stop covering for her,” Sunny says seriously, sipping on her martini. Tiffany only makes a noncommittal noise in response, and Sunny rolls her eyes, bumping her shoulder gently into Tiffany’s. “You’re pathetic, Captain Hwang.”

Tiffany’s brows furrow. “I’m not—”

“—We’ve been over this a million times, and the answer’s still the same: She’s your CO, and also, she’s terrible for you.”

Tiffany sighs, stirring her drink as she glances around the bar area. It’s only military personnel, of course, and she knows most of the people – met them at least once at some point or another. She’s starting to regret not taking the last shuttle to Earth that evening; she has the next three days off, and now she’s spending at least one of them here at this same old bar with the same old people.

And then Sunny is poking her in the side. “Lighten up. You’re killing the mood. No one’s going to talk to you if you look like your whole family just died.”

“I thought we were here for you.”

“We’re celebrating you feeling well again,” Sunny reminds her.

Tiffany responds by downing the rest of her drink in a few gulps, and when she’s done, she sets her empty glass on the countertop, turning to Sunny challengingly.

Sunny looks surprised, then impressed, and then proceeds to finish the rest of her lemon drop.

“We’d like another,” Tiffany says to the bartender when he comes over, pushing the empty glasses his way.

Sunny grins at her, and that’s how Tiffany knows that it’s going to be a great night.

 

 

*

It turns out to be an _excellent_ night.

Things start getting blurry around her fifth martini, and she’s pretty sure she and Sunny spend half the night discussing when the new jets will be ready for testing. She’s also pretty sure that she makes out with at least two different women in different dark corners of the bar. At some point, Taeyeon shows up and then there’s dancing, a lot of dancing – drunken, wobbly, and undeniably hot – and Tiffany can’t be sure of the order of events, or even with whom she’s done each of these things.

 

 

*

She wakes up the next morning with an incessant pounding in her head and a crick in her neck, and when she opens her eyes, all she can see are long lashes and large brown eyes staring back at her. It takes her a moment to realize what – who – she’s staring at, and when she does, she’s so startled that she jumps back, her arms flailing, and topples right off the bed.

Her one consolation, if it can even be called that, is that this doesn’t seem to be her room, or the fall would have hurt quite a bit more.

“Are you okay down there?” Brown eyes are peering at her once again over the edge of the bed, and Jessica’s lips are curved up into her trademark smirk. “I’d hate to see you back in Med Bay so soon.”

Tiffany glares, and when she speaks, her voice is accusatory. “You!”

“Me,” Jessica replies lazily.

Tiffany tries to remember her original train of thought to finish her accusation, but she finds herself distracted by an expanse of pale skin as Jessica props herself up in bed, sheets sliding down to reveal a bare shoulder. But then her headache – temporarily rushed away by the surprise – comes back full-force, and she closes her eyes, bringing a hand up to rub at her eyes.

When she looks back up, she sees Jessica slipping easily from the bed, devastatingly naked as she walks over to her sink. It’s only when Jessica is leaning down to hand her a glass of water and two small pills – “for the pain,” she says – that Tiffany snaps her eyes back up the other woman’s face, clearing her throat and taking the offered medication.

“Thanks,” Tiffany manages, though she doesn’t particularly _sound_ it.

She leaves ten minutes later, pulling her pants on (discarded by the side of the bed, and thank god that was the only piece of clothing she seemed to have lost throughout the evening) and straightening her rumpled shirt. She mumbles a goodbye and catches the barest hint of a grin from Jessica before the door slides shut, and then she’s left with only her thoughts in the hallway.

 

 

*

Unsurprisingly, she’s distracted the whole day.

A cadet stops by her office to ask about fuel engines, but she waves his questions off with distracted murmurs and goes right back to her lesson plans. Not that she’s even paying much attention to _that_ , and when Taeyeon stops by later, Tiffany has her head on her desk and is aimlessly doodling in her notebook.

“I’m pretty sure you’re not getting paid to do—” Taeyeon glances at the drawing. “—whatever it is you’re doing.”

“Probably not,” Tiffany agrees, putting her pen down as she looks at Taeyeon. “But I’m not clocked in today, so I can do whatever I want. Have you come to check on me?”

“I’ve already checked on everyone else,” Taeyeon shrugs. “Can’t have people saying I’m playing favourites by not supervising you.”

“Except for the part where I’m not even on duty, so no supervision’s necessary.”

“Maybe I just came down here to check on my best friend.”

Tiffany smiles.

“All right, seriously. You’re being weird.” Taeyeon prods Tiffany in between her ribs, and Tiffany swats at her hand. “Spill.”

“I’m not being weird.”

“You are, though.”

“It’s nothing,” Tiffany insists. “I just need more sleep.”

“Oh? Maybe actually sleeping in your bed will help with that.”

Tiffany looks up, surprised.

“Your roommate’s pretty chatty in the mornings.”

There’s something in the inflection in Taeyeon’s voice, but Tiffany can’t put her finger on it. _Of course_ Sunny mentioned her nighttime escapades; hell, Sunny probably even knew who Tiffany had left with last night. Not that Tiffany knew who she’d left with until she woke up this morning; it’s mostly all a blur in Tiffany’s mind. “You know Sunny,” Tiffany shrugs a shoulder. Taeyeon isn’t as close to Sunny as Tiffany is, but everyone on the ship knows Sunny and how her constant chatter almost rivals Tiffany’s.

“Well,” Taeyeon says after a moment, “it’s about time you got some.” There’s a grin on her face, but it doesn’t quite feel real, and Tiffany wants nothing more than to wipe it off her face. “I was starting to worry about your game.”

“Shut up,” Tiffany replies, but she’s smiling and the words have no sting to them. “My game is just fine.”

 

 

*

“I thought you hated her.”

“I never said that,” Tiffany protests, though there’s not much conviction behind her argument. And because there’s a difference between dislike and hate, she adds, “I said I didn’t like her.”

Sunny rolls her eyes. “Close enough.”

They’re in a lounge – on Earth this time, because Sunny just got her two days off, and the both of them decided to hitch a ride down to civilization. Judging by the number of incredibly drunk people singing their heads off at the karaoke machine, though, Tiffany thinks they could have picked a better bar.

“You know,” Sunny begins after a moment, sipping on her drink. “Your drunk persona might actually know what you want better than your sober self does.”

Tiffany fixes Sunny with an unimpressed stare. “Are you trying to tell me that I _want_ Jessica Jung?”

Sunny shrugs. “Stranger things have happened. There’s a very fine line between love and—”

“—Okay, now you’re just quoting platitudes back at me.”

“There’s a reason those platitudes exist.”

Tiffany sighs. “Just because we— it doesn’t mean— I do _not_ want her.”

“Okay,” says Sunny, not sounding convinced in the slightest.

“Come on,” Tiffany says, switching gears. She finishes the last of her drink and nudges Sunny. “Finish up that ridiculously sweet beverage of yours, and let’s show this bar what singing’s supposed to sound like.”

“Ma’am, yes ma’am.” Sunny mock salutes her, and Tiffany shoves at her shoulder.

 

 

*

Tiffany’s waiting for lunch at the mess hall two days later when she catches Jessica and Taeyeon together again. Thankfully, they’re not groping at each other this time – maybe the mess hall is _too_ public a venue, even for them – and as Tiffany approaches, getting in line right behind Taeyeon, their conversation comes to an abrupt halt.

“Hey,” she greets them, her voice bright.

Taeyeon’s gaze, when it’s directed at her, is downright icy, though it warms slightly when she meets Tiffany’s eyes. Jessica gives her a cursory glance, wearing the typical walled-off, blank look on her face that Tiffany’s gotten so used to, and then she’s stalking off without so much as a hello.

“Trouble in paradise?” Tiffany jokes once Jessica’s out of earshot, the sound of her heels against the linoleum still ringing in Tiffany’s ears. Her eyes trail after the blonde before settling on Taeyeon once again.

“No.” Taeyeon is still frowning when she places a bowl of steamed greens on her tray.

Tiffany isn’t sure what any of this is about, and she’s not sure she really wants to know, either. But Taeyeon’s always been terrible at taking care of herself, and sometimes, she just needs someone to ask. “Are you okay? You never fight with your, uh, conquests.”

Taeyeon snorts. “Do you really have to use that word? There’s a first time for everything, Fany.” She shakes her head. “I’ll be fine.” She looks at the pudding Tiffany is reaching for, their shoulders brushing, and remarks, “That’s a one-way ticket to a food coma.”

“I’m the one who has to deal with it.” Tiffany sticks her tongue out at Taeyeon, shooing her further down the line. “So mind your own business.”

 

 

*

Her next few days are routine.

Grading, teaching, flying.

On Wednesday, she takes some of the rookie pilots on their first supervised flight. She straps herself into the co-pilot seat, watches as they map coordinates with nervous hands and convey their thoughts and reasoning with stammering voices. Most of them do well; a few she has to bench until the next month.

On Friday, she takes a research team to Venus – the planet this time, not the ship.

Tiffany arrives in the Landing Bay to see Seohyun, though notably absent are her two hulking companions. “They’re working on a different project now,” Seohyun says when Tiffany inquires, and then before more pleasantries can be exchanged, their attention is diverted by a loud crash coming from behind them.

“I’m fine,” comes a muffled voice from behind some crates that have fallen to the ground, just as Seohyun exclaims, “The samples!”

Two seconds later, a young man with a mop of messy hair and kind eyes pokes his head out from behind the crates and offers them a sheepish smile. “The samples will be fine, I promise.” He sets the crates back on the trolley he’s pushing. “I made sure to pack them well.”

The disapproval hasn’t left Seohyun’s face. “That’s a volatile compound,” Seohyun scolds, though Tiffany notes that she sounds _fond,_ somehow. “You need to be more careful with that.”

“I will be,” the young man replies, completely unaffected by Seohyun’s mood. He extends a hand to Tiffany. “Captain Hwang, right? I hear we’re flying with you today. I’m Yonghwa. Jung Yonghwa.”

“Pleasure,” Tiffany says, taking his hand. “You can load those in the main cabin.”

Yonghwa nods, and Seohyun follows after him – probably to keep an eye on her precious compounds, but Tiffany doesn’t miss the way that Seohyun smiles at him when she thinks he isn’t looking.

The ride to Venus goes smoothly, with Seohyun and Yonghwa talking in lowered voices in the back, and when they arrive, Tiffany waits for them on the shuttle as they go out to collect samples – or whatever it is they’re here to do. She only gets the orders, not the reasons, and she’s never been bothered enough to ask.

They come back in an hour later, dust on their boots and suits that Tiffany makes them shake off before re-entering, and then they’re headed back for the Generation.

“So,” Tiffany says when Seohyun slides into the co-pilot seat halfway through the flight back. When she chances a glance back, she sees that Yonghwa is diligently storing the newly-collected samples, placing them into one of the crates. “You and Yonghwa…?”

It’s cute, the way Seohyun blushes at the mention of his name. “We’re just coworkers,” she hastens to explain. “He’s very nice, and very smart.”

Tiffany makes a noncommittal noise at the back of her throat, nods.

“What about you?” Seohyun asks, grasping for a change of subject.

Tiffany exhales through her teeth. “I’m not sure. I met this doctor, and I didn’t really like her at first—”

“—her?” Seohyun looks confused. And then, “Oh.” She doesn’t say anything more, though she’s visibly uncomfortable.

“But now I’m not sure,” Tiffany continues, glossing over Seohyun’s interruption.

“Why didn’t you like her at first?” Seohyun finally asks after a momentary silence.

“I don’t know,” Tiffany lies, gazing straight ahead. “I mean, I still don’t know her very well. I don’t even know if I do like her now.”

Neither of them speaks again for the rest of the ride, but later that night, just as she’s about to go to bed, Tiffany gets a private message on her digital comm. When she pulls the message up on her bedroom wall, she sees it’s from a Dr. Seo Joohyun:

_I think you’re making things more complicated than they are._

She sighs and slumps back into her bed.

Maybe Seohyun has a point: maybe she _is_ making matters unnecessarily complicated.

But she doesn’t know what, exactly, she feels, much less how to begin even sorting it all out.

 

 

*

Tiffany falls into a pattern in the weeks that follow.

She spends her days at work: training new recruits, sorting through paperwork, and occasionally flying research teams to different planets and ships. Her favorite days are the ones she gets to work with the jets, but those are few and far in between. She shuttles Seohyun and her team a few times in the same week, and each time, the younger woman’s questions regarding her love life are well-meaning but ultimately more stressful than anything else, and Tiffany learns to change the subject.

In the evenings, she alternates between spending her time with Sunny and Taeyeon.

Although she sees Sunny almost every day, it’s never a chore to go out for drinks with her twice a week. Sunny is fun and understanding and is really the only one who can keep up with – surpass, really – Tiffany’s drinking habits. When she actually thinks about it, the amount of alcohol that can fit into Sunny’s tiny body is impressive, especially considering the fact that Sunny somehow still manages to be ten times more sober than anyone else her size.

Tiffany’s dinners with Taeyeon are the same they’ve always been, if a little easier. There’s less of a heavy weight in her chest every time Tiffany meets Taeyeon’s eyes, and she finds that she can smile, can laugh, a little easier around her oldest friend in the world.

It’s nice, and it’s pretty much enough to make her forget about waking up next to Jessica.

 

 

*

She’s returning from the bathroom one day when it happens: there’s a sharp tug on her wrist, and she finds herself being led to a corridor out of the way, the one that leads to the utility closets.

Jessica relinquishes her hold on Tiffany once they’re sufficiently far along the hallway that no one will stumble upon them. Standing with her hands on her hips, Tiffany glares at Jessica. “What do you want?”

“You need to call your guard dog off.”

“Excuse me?”

Jessica sighs impatiently. “Taeyeon. Whatever it is you guys need to work out, leave me out of it. I don’t need your drama.”

And Tiffany doesn’t know what Jessica’s talking about – not at first, anyway, but then something clicks into place. The awkward confrontation she’d walked into a week ago at the mess hall. The strange looks Taeyeon had been giving her since then, the way Taeyeon had been acting around her recently.

“She seems to be mistaken about what happened that night.” There’s a sneer on Jessica’s face, and it makes her look ugly.

“What do you mean?”

Jessica doesn’t respond for a minute, surprise colouring her features. “She seems to think we had sex. You don’t remember that we didn’t? And you still told her—”

“I didn’t tell her anything,” she responds, frowning. “I had one too many to drink,” she confesses, albeit defensively. “Maybe two or three too many.”

“Nothing happened,” Jessica clarifies, crossing her arms over her chest. “I took you back to my room because you couldn’t tell me where yours was.” And then, when Tiffany thinks she’s done, she adds, “I don’t sleep with drunk women who are obviously into someone else. And I wouldn’t have slept with Taeyeon if I’d known she was into—”

Tiffany’s mind is playing catch-up, and she’s so surprised by what she does process that she completely misses the second half of that statement. “I’m not into Taeyeon.” It’s only when the words leave her mouth that she realizes how true that is – which is… new. Sunny would be so proud. “I’m not,” she repeats when Jessica only lifts a delicate brow, her voice stronger this time.

“You’re not,” she repeats doubtfully.

Tiffany shakes her head. And it’s not that she feels bad for Jessica, but it’s very unlike Taeyeon to give someone so much trouble over what was essentially nothing. “Look, I’ll talk to her—”

“You really don’t remember anything that happened?”

Frowning, Tiffany doesn’t bother to hide her annoyance as she starts slowly, “We’ve covered this. I don’t remember a thing.” She moves to take a step back, because she doesn’t know when Jessica got so close, her face only inches away, but then Jessica’s fingers are circling her wrist, tugging her forward again.

“And you’re not hung up on Taeyeon?”

Tiffany can feel her heart flutter unsteadily in her chest – something else that’s new – and she says, irritably, “I already said—”

Jessica closes the distance between them, her lips moving against Tiffany’s, and _wow, okay,_ if Tiffany has ever been kissed by Jessica, she’d think she’d remember it, because Jessica’s lips are soft and nice, and her body is warm and pliant against Tiffany’s, and she parts Tiffany’s lips gently, and suddenly there’s tongue, there’s a lot of tongue, and it’s kind of really amazing.

“I don’t think we’ve kissed before,” is the only thing Tiffany can think to say, breathlessly, when Jessica pulls away.

Jessica smirks. “No, we haven’t.”

“Well.” Tiffany licks her lips and tastes the barest hint of vanilla, and it’s satisfying, the way Jessica’s staring at her. So she surges forward, pushing Jessica against the wall and recapturing the blonde’s lips with her own.

 

 

*

The first day the new line of jets is ready for testing is the most excited Tiffany’s been in a while. She wakes up at the crack of dawn – which now, in space, is really just a form of expression – and is buttoning the last button on her uniform when an announcement crackles on the overhead:

_All test flights for batch Alpha-Epsilon-Zeta 178 are grounded until further notice._

…Which means _she’s_ grounded. With a disappointed sigh, Tiffany slumps back down on the edge of Sunny’s empty bunk. Her roommate’s had the late night shift for the past week, and Tiffany has barely spoken two words to her during this time. Shrugging off her uniform, Tiffany climbs back into her top bunk and spends the morning drifting in and out of restless sleep.

Around noon, she makes her way down to the mess hall.

“What’s wrong with you?” Sunny asks when Tiffany sits down opposite her.

Tiffany sighs. “The new jets are grounded.”

“Right, that was you.” Sunny watches as Tiffany mixes bits of bacon into her mashed potatoes. “You’re lucky they grounded that batch.”

Tiffany’s surprise lasts for all of five seconds – because _of course_ Sunny knows all about the jets. If Tiffany had to take a gander, she’d guess that Sunny was also in charge of repairing whatever problems there were. “What’s wrong with them?”

“The drift isn’t working right,” Sunny says through a mouthful of food. “Some crazy mechanic installed them with the wrong screws, and they’re not functioning properly. You’d be stuck out there and only able to turn one direction.” Sunny takes a sip of her water. “Don’t worry, though. You’ll be flying in two days tops, so get that sour expression off your face.”

“Yes, mother,” Tiffany responds, deadpan.

“I like this, though.”

“What?”

“This is the crankiest you’ve been in a while. I almost forgot what cranky Tiffany looked like.”

“Hey! I’m not cranky.”

“Not for the past week, at least,” Sunny agrees.

Tiffany narrows her eyes.

Sunny laughs. “You should see your face now.” She leans over and pinches a cheek.

“Ow, no!”

“I’m glad you’re happy, Fany.”

Tiffany feels the awkwardness of the moment creep up on her, and shrugs her shoulders like she’s trying to shake the feeling off. “Just fix my jet, and _then_ I’ll be happy.”

 

 

*

She runs into Taeyeon a few days later.

She’s just finished the first round of testing, and the new jets are wonderful. They move effortlessly through the black, responding to the slightest touch. The new window displays are something else altogether – Tiffany’s been with the military for years now, and she hasn’t come across something that’s both simple to use and helpful in planning flight and weapon trajectories.

“Hey,” she says brightly, reaching for her friend’s hand.

The movement seems to still Taeyeon in her tracks, and she turns to smile at Tiffany. “What’s up?”

Smiling back effortlessly, Tiffany lets go of Taeyeon’s hand. “I was going to ask you the same thing.”

“Well, you first.”

“Oh.” Tiffany blinks. And then, “I haven’t seen you in a while.”

“The malfunctioning jets come with a lot of paperwork,” Taeyeon explains with an easy grin, and for the first time in the past two weeks, her expression doesn’t seem forced.

Tiffany relaxes, and as Taeyeon looks away, she blurts out, “Taengoo, we’re friends, right?”

Taeyeon regards her with a bemused expression – the one she always wears when she’s trying to figure someone out. “Of course.”

“So you’d tell me if something was bothering you?”

There’s a long pause, and then Taeyeon smiles, all white teeth. “Of course.”

They leave it at that.

 

 

*

Tiffany doesn’t have a name for what this is.

All she’s certain of is that it’s uncomplicated fun, and that’s something she’s okay with right now, especially when Jessica proves to be up for pretty much anything under the sun. (Again, a figure of speech these days.) In the few weeks they’ve been seeing each other, Tiffany can hardly think of any place on the ship in which they _haven’t_ made out.

Tiffany likes pressing open-mouthed kisses to Jessica’s collarbone, her hands slipping under military-issue clothing and skimming over heated skin.

It’s difficult not to draw any comparisons between her-and-Jessica versus Taeyeon-and-Jessica, and she’d be lying if she said it didn’t leave a sour taste in her mouth.

Bringing it up to Jessica isn’t an option – it seems silly, and what would she say? – and so she just kisses her a little bit harder.

 

 

*

“You seem happy.”

Tiffany looks up from the console to smile at Seohyun, who has settled into the co-pilot seat yet again. “I am,” she says, because it’s easier to agree – but when she stops to consider it, she thinks that Seohyun might be right. She _is_ happy. After a moment of silence, she asks, “What about you and Yonghwa?”

Seohyun blushes. “Ah, there’s no—”

“—but you want there to be.” It’s not a question at all.

“I’m focusing on my research right now,” Seohyun replies diplomatically, and looks down at her lap.

Tiffany shoots Seohyun a look, but doesn’t push the matter. She knows Seohyun enough to know that the woman will talk about it when she wants to, and no sooner. “Right,” Tiffany nods, racking her brains for what, exactly, Seohyun’s working on. “The shatterproof windshield?”

“Yes,” Seohyun’s response is almost grateful, and she spends the rest of the ride filling Tiffany’s brain with information about organic compounds and how they can be added to reinforce the glass. It’s very complicated, and Tiffany only follows half of it, but Seohyun seems happy to share the information.

 

 

*

It doesn’t mean Tiffany likes Jessica, or anything.

Sure, she likes the way Jessica feels when she’s pressed up against her. She likes how soft her hair is, the way it tickles her cheeks when Jessica leans over her. She likes the way Jessica’s breath hitches when she trails kisses along her jawline. Most of all, she likes the way Jessica can unravel her with a few deft strokes of her fingers.

 _One, two, three, and—_ “Oh, god.”

Jessica’s lips are wet when she looks back up at Tiffany, and she smirks as she runs a tongue over her bottom lip, shifting upwards to kiss Tiffany on the lips.

Tiffany’s thumbs stroke slow patterns against Jessica’s hips, and in one fluid movement, she flips them over so that she’s on top. “Cocky,” she murmurs affectionately, sucking on Jessica’s collarbone before moving down.

“I didn’t say anything,” Jessica replies, though her breathing has sped up.

Tiffany rolls her eyes, lashes brushing Jessica’s belly, and presses a kiss to her hipbone. “You didn’t have to.”

 

 

*

Thursday nights are one of the busiest nights at the bar, and Tiffany is on her second round of drinks with Sunny when Jessica shows up, all blonde hair and soft curves and Tiffany can’t help the way her lips pull upwards into a smile when she spots her from across the room.

Jessica greets Tiffany with a kiss to the cheek and smoothly offers her hand to Sunny.

Her presence here isn’t a complete surprise; Tiffany was, after all (and at Sunny’s urging), the one who invited her to have drinks with them. But she’d also made it clear the other night that Jessica was under no obligation to show up, and there’s a part of her that still can’t quite believe that Jessica is _here_.

“You came,” she says, not bothering to mask her surprise.

“Of course,” comes Jessica’s simple response, as though it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

Tiffany smiles and orders her a drink, pushing down the nervousness she feels inside.

This is the first time that Jessica’s meeting Sunny outside of the Med Bay, and come to think of it, Tiffany hasn’t spent any time alone with Jessica that didn’t involve a lot of making out and sex. It’s strange to think that this first date (because what else could it be?) would involve someone else, but then again, she’s not sure it would have worked out any other way.

Both Sunny and Jessica turn out to be excellent conversationalists – the former doesn’t surprise her; Sunny has always been good at saying things people want to hear. But the latter does catch her off-guard; Jessica is difficult to read on a regular day, and can be rather reticent at times, and tonight, she seems like a different person. There are moments, though, when she gets quiet, and she’ll turn to regard Tiffany with a look reserved just for her, and Tiffany instantly recognizes that as the Jessica she's come to know.

At some point during the conversation, Jessica’s hand comes to rest on her thigh, and Tiffany spends the rest of the evening terribly distracted.

“You guys are sickening,” Sunny announces later, when Jessica’s excused herself to say hello to some of her fellow doctors and it’s just Tiffany and Sunny again, nursing their drinks. “Really and truly sickening.”

Tiffany snaps her gaze away from Jessica and rolls her eyes at Sunny. “You don’t need to exaggerate.”

“I’m not exaggerating,” Sunny remarks, and nudges Tiffany in the ribs. “She’s…”

“Nice?” Tiffany supplies.

“No,” Sunny shakes her head, and then laughs at the expression on Tiffany’s face. “Different. Interesting, I guess. You like her a lot, don’t you?”

Tiffany shrugs noncommittally, but she smiles again when she catches Jessica’s eye from across the room.

 

 

*

It’s been a while – too long, really – since Tiffany has stumbled upon Taeyeon making out with some hapless cadet or crew member on the ship, and it’s only due time when it finally does happen again.

This time, when Tiffany yanks the door to the storage closet open to search for extra uniforms for the new recruits, she’s greeted with the sight of her best friend, naked from the waist up, quite obviously doing the deed with a brunette she only vaguely recognizes.

“Taeyeon,” she sighs, exasperation and admonishment evident in her voice as she claps a hand to her eyes. It probably means something that she spends the next few moments trying to wipe the image from her mind; two months ago and she would have taken the opportunity to memorize every curve and freckle on her best friend’s back. “Really?”

Taeyeon shrugs her top back on and smirks at Tiffany, but doesn’t apologize. The nameless brunette, on the other hand, at least has the grace to look somewhat embarrassed, and Tiffany finds herself blindly backing out of the closet. There’s an apology at the tip of her tongue, but she swallows it – if Taeyeon wants to have sex in public, Tiffany’s not going to apologize for it.

They’re at dinner later that evening when Tiffany brings it up.

“Next time, can you please just take these women to your room?” It’s phrased as a question, but it’s more of a suggestion than it is a request. Like Jessica, Taeyeon has a room all to herself, and if she’d just use it, maybe Tiffany wouldn’t find herself in this situation quite as often.

Taeyeon reddens slightly. “You know,” she says thoughtfully after a moment, “you’re the only one who ever seems to walk in on me.”

“Are you trying to blame me for this?”

“I’m just saying—”

“—that I’m the number one mood ruiner on this ship?”

“Yes,” Taeyeon laughs. “That’s exactly what I’m trying to say.”

Offended, Tiffany flings some mashed potatoes in Taeyeon’s direction in retaliation – which naturally leads to a mini food fight. There’s a spot of mashed potatoes right under Taeyeon’s jaw and Tiffany’s pretty sure there’s applesauce in her hair by the time they’re both shown out of the mess hall with a stern glare from one of the senior officers. They wait until the doors shut behind them before bursting out into laughter, shoving at each other as they head down the hallway.

 

 

*

Tiffany finds herself in front of Jessica’s door, her hand raised to the doorbell.

A few short moments later, and Jessica’s door is sliding open. Jessica’s initial smile is replaced with a cautious look when she takes in Tiffany, whose hair is a little mussed and probably has bits of broccoli and applesauce in it, and whose normally immaculate uniform has pudding stains on it. She folds her arms across her chest and leans against the doorway, effectively blocking Tiffany’s entrance. “You’re not coming in like this.”

Tiffany pouts. “But Jessica—”

Jessica gives a particularly spectacular roll of her eyes and sighs loudly, stepping aside to let Tiffany in, which is just as well, because Tiffany doesn’t actually know how she was planning to convince Jessica to let her in.

Once the door has slid shut behind them, Tiffany immediately presses Jessica against the wall, kissing her hard.

She catches a whiff of Jessica when she pulls back: that clean smell she’s grown used to over time, like clinics and the Med Bay.

There was a time when Tiffany would have imagined her lover (because what else was Jessica, really) smelling like something out of those books she’s so fond of: something sweet, like roses, or cinnamon, or maybe even strawberries. Of course she gets the complete opposite of that.

It’s strange, at first, to be reminded of bright lights and clean bedsheets and _medicine_ when she kisses Jessica, but now she can’t imagine anything else.

Tiffany leans in for another kiss but is stopped by a firm hand at her chest. “You should take a shower,” Jessica says, brushing some of Tiffany’s hair back. She makes a face and then wipes that hand on Tiffany’s uniform. “You _really_ need one.”

“Uh-huh,” Tiffany responds as she steps back and pulls her shirt off, letting it fall to the floor. She smiles at the way Jessica’s eyes follow her, open and wanting, all the way across the room. “Do you want to help me with that?”

It turns out that Jessica doesn’t need to be asked twice.

 

 

*

“Go out with me.”

It’s much, much later that evening, and Tiffany is lying boneless and warm in Jessica’s bed, the sheets draped haphazardly over her.

Jessica turns to look at her, and just fleetingly, Tiffany catches the surprise on her face.

“On a date,” Tiffany adds hastily, feeling strangely embarrassed, and she shifts the sheet so that it fits more snugly against her body. “We can catch a shuttle to Earth and go for a proper dinner.”

Jessica is silent for a moment – a long moment in which Tiffany feels more and more foolish for even having suggested it – and then Jessica is pressing into her, mouth warm and inviting and fingers pulling at the sheet that Tiffany’s clutching, and Tiffany gasps into her. When Jessica finally leans away, her cheeks are warm and flushed and she looks as pleased as Tiffany’s ever seen her.

“Yes,” is what Jessica says, even though Tiffany hasn’t posed a question, and then they’re kissing again.

Tiffany soon finds herself on her back with blonde hair curtaining her face, and when she tries to sit up to flip them over, Jessica only pushes her back down and presses heated kisses along her neck. Jessica takes her time, her hands and lips mapping every inch and angle on Tiffany’s body, and by the time Jessica finally, _finally_ slides into her, Tiffany’s every nerve feels like it’s on fire, and it takes only a few seconds of slipping and sliding, in and out, and she’s completely undone.

It feels like a reward, somehow, and though she feels weightless and fluid, there’s a tightness in her chest that only seems to ease when she moves her lips against Jessica’s.

“I—” she starts to say, but then stops abruptly.

Jessica looks at her sharply.

“I like you a lot,” Tiffany finishes, and though her feelings seem like so much _more_ , sometimes, she knows it’s exactly the right thing to say when Jessica smiles and kisses her fully.

Tiffany kisses Jessica until she’s out of breath, until she’s gasping and writhing underneath her, until she comes against Tiffany’s lips. And when Jessica’s breathing has evened out, Tiffany curls around her, one hand on her stomach and the other gently combing through the ends of blonde hair.

She thinks Jessica has fallen asleep – and isn’t far behind herself – when she hears it, so quiet she almost misses it.

“I like you too.”

The words work their way straight to her core, warming her from the inside out. And as her eyelids flutter shut, she knows she’s going to have a difficult time pulling herself out of bed tomorrow, with an arm wrapped around Jessica and a nose pressed into a slim shoulder, but she doesn’t regret a minute of it.

 

 

*


End file.
